


The 127th Winter Hunger Games

by Iomhar



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, District 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iomhar/pseuds/Iomhar
Summary: Elijah Asher, an 18-year-old from District 5, was reaped for the 127th Winter Hunger Games.  Alongside his district partner, he struggles to make his way through the cold forests.  This is told in chronological narrative through both Elijah's memories and Gamemaker notes.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate universe Hunger Games created as background for a character on a collaborative writing forum. It is also the first time I've ever posted anything on this site. So if I've committed some grave error, let me know nicely. Thanks!

**Gamemaker Notes:**

Tribute Elijah Asher from District 5 received a training score of 8.

 

Family:  
• Biological father: Watt Asher (40)  
• Biological mother: Leda Harper-Asher (40)   
• Siblings: Henry Asher (20), George Asher (14), Joule Asher (12)   
• Other relations: Charles Harper (71, grandfather), Marie Harper (68, grandmother), Alessandro Asher (86, grandfather)   
• Friends: Anthony Mu (18, friend since childhood), Lucinda Ampere (17, girlfriend)

Academic Performance: Average. Unremarkable in test scores and assignments. 55th percentile in standardized testing. On track to graduate from high school this spring. Anticipates to go to trade school.

Extracurricular Activities: On the school soccer team.

Reaping Notes: Excellent performance. Very stoic. Entire family very reserved, though sadness evident. Subject bid his crying girlfriend goodbye. Interestingly enough, D5F is subject’s girlfriend’s sister’s friend. They do not seem to know each other more than just by name.

Media Attention: Average. Nothing stood out during the Reaping to warrant extra attention. Due to age and physical abilities, media places emphasis on Subject surviving longer than most.

Public Reaction: Due to his appearance and reserved nature, Subject earned attention from many citizens. No notable comments.

Training Center Notes: Bonded quickly with D5F. Spent much of their time together going from station to station. Subject appears to be skilled in running and endurance. Moderate upper body strength. Handles knives and small weapons well. No prior experience in larger weapons or projectiles. Does not approach other tributes but has helped several with minor issues. Showed D8M how to choose a good knife. Sat with D9F at the plant station. Actively avoids stations with large crowds or with tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4.

Private Training Session Notes: Throwing knives. 8/10 knives hit the target. The other 2 missed. Subject did not show any additional skills and dismissed himself after throwing the knives. Initial training score at 4/12 until [redacted] pointed out that Subject had intentionally missed in order to draw a potential victim closer.

Pre-Games Summary: Subject’s potential to succeed is limited by his inexperience. Strength and knife skills clear. Unwillingness to engage with peers indicates lack of communication skills which could prove detrimental to inter-tribute relations within the arena. However, this has placed him at an advantage in that the Careers did not pay him much attention until the training scores were released. Survival skills are adequate, though he relies on D5F too heavily.

Likelihood to survive the Cornucopia: 85%  
Likelihood to survive until Day 5: 52%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 20%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 8%


	2. Day One

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

I expected the screams. I expected the death. I expected the fear. I didn’t expect the exhaustion.

I remember running. We crashed through tree limbs and underbrush. We tore across open fields, fear clouding our common sense, but we couldn’t stop because the same fear also frothed behind us, pushing us forward with the threat of imminent death. My lungs burned and my legs ached, but neither of us dared ask to stop. Because we couldn’t.

At long last, the two of us collapsed onto the forest floor and scrambled into the perceived safety of an old tree, whose limbs reached out as though to protect us. Our chests heaved up and down as our sandpaper throats gasped for air.

I don’t remember much else from the first day.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 001 Subject performed admirably at the Cornucopia. The preliminary assessment interval was utilized to its full extent as Subject noted the arena, the other tributes, and the supplies which lay before the Cornucopia. Upon the release, Subject immediately obtained supplies. 1 bag (item #001481) and 1 baseball bat (item #89101). Subject met with D5F. D5F was in possession of 1 bag (item #001488) and 1 knife (item #89180). They did not immediately leave the Cornucopia area. Subject and D5F remained immobile for 0:00:14 as they watched their peers. D10F ran at Subject and D5F but was intercepted and terminated by D4F. Subject and D5F fled the Cornucopia. Total time before departure: 00:03:10. Injuries sustained: none.

For the remainder of daylight hours, Subject and D5F travelled N72°E. Elevation difference of 523 meters. They stopped at 5:10:45 post-start to assess supplies. Both stayed awake to watch the Anthem.

Deaths, Day 001  
24/24: D8F (by D1M)  
23/24: D7M (by D2F)  
22/24: D10F (by D2F)  
21/24: D8M (by D2M)  
20/24: D11M (by D4F)  
19/24: D11F (by D4M)

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 5: 63%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 22%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 9%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first day is a blur - and a little slow. Hang tight because the rest will get pretty wild.


	3. Day Two

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

Things started to sink in when I woke up on the cold forest floor. Roots from the tree under which I slept jutted from the ground; my back aches from where I slept on them. And that’s only the beginning of the sores. Every muscle in my body screamed when I moved as though they had been torn apart by yesterday’s events, and it took several minutes of flexing and stretching to fight through the pain well enough to move.

Ilana and I must have assessed our supplies the night before, but I don’t remember these days. The details are too hazy. But I now had her knife and she had my baseball bat. We forced ourselves to drink water and eat a light breakfast, though I took it slowly so that it was not wasted on a return trip.

“What do you think?” Ilana asked as we packed up our meager supply of stuff the Capitol so benevolently gave to us. I didn’t need to ask her what she was referring to.

“It’s cold,” I said. That was all I managed to get out. It was damned cold, but the slight hints of frost that had lingered on the hard ground had disappeared the moment that the gleaming sun appeared over the peaks. So far there had been no snow, though considering the temperature dip at night, I wouldn’t be surprise to wake up to a heavy blanket of freshly fallen snow the next morning.

The temperature didn’t help the aches and pains, the groaning of joints and burning of muscles. We kept warm and limbered our bodies by searching for resources in this horrible place. The serenity of the mountains reminded me of some of the quiet places I had visited within District 5, but beneath it all was an ominous throbbing that I couldn’t escape no matter how much I tried. Not a physical sensation, but a mental one—an anxiety that pulsed in my soul and reminded me that no matter how nice it was, no matter how fresh and crisp the air was, we would never be able to enjoy our final days.

In some ways, the seriousness of the situation didn’t quite sink in that day. We ruffled through the forest searching for late berries, kindling for fire, fresh water, shelter, and yet it still seemed surreal and distant. Yes, there was the uneasiness and fear, but it was as though we had a protective bubble around us that kept us away from everyone else where we couldn’t be touched. And this illusion remained with us throughout the day and into the next.

Evening came, and we put out the fire on which we roasted a fish I had caught in the river. We packed our belongings, including the berries and nuts we found and fresh water in canteens, and we hiked through the twilight until we found a place to settle down. As soon as the sun disappeared over the mountainside—even before dusk came upon us—and the shadows stretched and merged into one, the temperature dropped dramatically. A fire would have kept us warm, but it would also draw unwanted visitors. We lined our clothing with pine needles and leaves to help insulate us, and we curled up in a crevasse of a rock to watch the anthem played in the sky. My fingers and toes were numb, and shivering did little to warm us.

I knew that they were showing us at home, Ilana and me, curled up together with our backpacks covering our bodies and a layer of leaves and needles gathered into a bed beneath us. They’d show Ilana pointing out the different stars to me and naming the constellations in a hushed voice, and they’d show me trying (and failing) to tie leaves together to make a blanket for her as she did so. I knew that my girlfriend would be torn in agony over it all, but it wasn’t like that.

Ilana was my last bit of home. She was my only comfort and the little bit of sanity to which I clung was bound to this girl I barely knew a week prior. She was a friend of a friend of a friend, but her familiarity wrapped itself around my withering soul.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 002 Subject and D5F utilized this time to acquire resources. During the day they caught one greenback trout and foraged for berries. The trout was gutted and roasted over a small fire. Subject and D5F obtained water from the same river and boiled over the fire. Risks of parasites and bacterial infection from the fish and water decreased to 0.35% with appropriate cooking. 

Subject and D5F well acquainted with each other. Compared with the four other active alliances, the alliance of District 5 meets the qualifications of “superior level” in the Hergman-Walter Scale of Alliances with a score of 37/45. Subject and D5F displayed bonding activities before D5F began “first watch.”

Area covered on foot: Subject and D5F stayed within the same 5 km2 near the northeastern sector of the map. Closest tribute: D12F. 

Deaths, Day 002  
18/24: D12M (by D2M)  
17/24: D3M (by D6M) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 5: 54%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 19%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 7%


	4. Day Three

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

The sound of cannons booming woke us in the early morning. It had been my watch, but I had drifted away; somebody’s death had brought us fortune where I had failed, though I didn’t dare mention this to Ilana.

The third day brought most of what the second day had given us. Though neither of us spoke of it, we both knew that it couldn’t last like this. Our sentences were short, our words tense. Shorter and tenser than they ought to have been, though quite understandable for our situation. Long spaces of uneasy silence drifted between us, binding us together like a loose string that would neither let us drift apart nor draw us together.

We prepared for the evening as we did the day before. As we gathered the leaves to make our bed, the crackling of boots on twigs and underbrush drew our attention—but it was too late to do anything more than watch the tribute who was diving into our backpacks. The kid—he must’ve been fourteen—was rooting through our supplies, grabbing out handfuls of berries and our rope and flashlight. Anything he could get his hands on.

“Hey!” I shouted at him, standing up. I held the knife in my hands, but it was an empty threat.

The kid didn’t stop. He might as well have just taken the entire bag.

Ilana grabbed the knife out of my hand and lunged at the kid. Anger and hatred and pain glistened in her eyes as she tackled him to the ground. The blade glinted in the dwindling sunlight, and it found its home within the neck of the District 10 boy. Blood spilled from his body and he writhed for several long moments before Ilana pulled the knife out and sunk it in his chest.

The District 10 boy remained motionless, and Ilana knelt over him, chest and shoulders heaving. For several long seconds, the two of us said nothing. My heart crashed in my chest, each beat shaking my body.

Ilana pushed herself away from the kid when the cannon boomed, and she kicked her feet and shoved herself backwards, shuffling leaves and needles in her desperate attempt to be free of his body. Blood soaked her clothing, and bits of dirt and debris clung to its stickiness.

It was almost a full minute in which she stared at the boy. How many times had we passed him by in the training center? How many times had we eaten lunch with him or trained with him? He was scared, he was starving. He was just like us, and now he was dead. Ilana, then, put her head between her knees and began to sob.

She blubbered out apologies and statements proclaiming both her guilt and freedom of responsibility, but nothing came out coherently. I tried to draw her away, but she was a shivering lump, her body racked with gasps and sobs that came from deep within her stomach.

I was almost too afraid to touch the body, but I knew that I had to get back some of the supplies he had shoved into his jacket. Carefully I reached my trembling hand into his clothing and peeled away the jacket. The rope and flashlight fell out, which I put back into the bag from which they had come. The berries were smooshed and mangled and mixed with the blood, so I left them alone. With as much reverence as I could manage, I continued to remove the jacket from him. His body was heavy, and the limbs flopped as I tried to lift him off the ground, with nothing but gravity to control them. At last I removed the jacket, shoved it into the bag, and then picked up both bags. One of them—the lighter one—I carefully slid onto Ilana, moving one arm and then the other as I looped the backpack straps around her. She was nearly as lifeless as the District 10 boy. I shouldered my own bag, coaxed Ilana to her feet, and we left.

We walked to the river where I cleaned her up carefully so that she would not wake up to the sticky blood caked onto her skin, but it was only a brief stop. We kept walking, placing as much distance between ourselves and the boy that we dared. At last we came to a stop for the evening. I laid out the newly-acquired jacket for us to lay out since I didn’t dare rummage around for leaves to make our bedding and the ground was far too cold to forgo it. Ilana sat down without giving a thought to the jacket. She had stopped crying, but her blank, tear-filled eyes stared out into other lands, seeing things that I could not imagine.

She spoke little at first. I curled her up under my arm and wrapped myself tightly around her to provide as much body heat as I could. She buried her head under my arm and cried at varying intervals.

“It’s part of the Hunger Games,” I told her. “There was nothing else you could have done.”

Ilana sniffled. She didn’t bother to look up at me. “I could have let him go. He didn’t need to die.”

“Yes, he did,” I said. “If he doesn’t die, that means that we die.”

“One of us is going to have to—”

“Don’t say it,” I begged. “I know. We don’t have to say it.”

Ilana slept through the anthem, which was just as well since the face of the District 10 boy shone in the sky, alive and real as ever. I held Ilana closer and tried to rid myself of the sight that burned into my mind of his last breaths and the strange quivers of his body after his eyes had glazed over. I tried not to think about the reality of the situation and that one of us—and likely both of us—would be just like him. How much time did we have left? Hours? Days?

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 003 Subject and D5F spent the majority of the day in the same manner in which they spent the previous day. However, at approximately 18:23:00, D10M approached both Subject and D5F to steal their supplies. D5F terminated D10M with a knife.

Despite tension between the alliance prior to this engagement, it appears that the interaction may have further strengthened the resolve of their partnership. Subject's reaction time is 0.45 seconds less than anticipated, however his emotional response to D5F's state exceeded expectations for his tribute class. 

Deaths, Day 003  
16/24: D9M (exposure)  
15/24: D6F (exposure)  
14/24: D10M (by D5F) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 5: 58%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 25%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 8%


	5. Day Four

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

Ilana was not better in the morning, and neither was I, but we made a good faith effort to pretend that we were both for the sake of ourselves and the sake of each other. We could not show weakness—we could not be weak. Yet I could still see the hollowness within Ilana’s eyes surrounded by puffy red lids.

Around midday, we anticipated a stop for a break, but a cannon booming jolted us with fear. We walked faster without realizing it, but we came to a stop when we realized that death was much closer than we believed.

Strewn about in the leaves was the dismembered body of the District 12 girl. My stomach lurched, but I swallowed the bile that rose up burning into my throat. I won’t go into detail—can’t go into detail. But it still haunts me in my mind’s eye even though it’s been years since I witnessed it. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that some messed up tribute did this to this girl, or the fact that, based upon the timing of the cannon, the dismembering did not necessarily come after death.

“Whoever did this . . .” Ilana hesitated, lips trembling so much that she had to pull herself together before she tried again. “Whoever did this has a really big, sharp knife.”

We didn’t say anything else. Within seconds, we were out of the clearing so that the hovercrafts could remove the remains and return them, piece by piece, to the family members.

I wiped away the tears as we pushed ourselves to give the area space. But I felt it—we were being watched. There was no definitive proof, no eyes peering out between trees. I knew I was being paranoid and what I had just seen rattled me to the core, altering my perception of reality.

I didn’t sleep well that night.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 004 Subject and D5F travelled approximately 7 km on Day 004 and are located at N10°E from the Cornucopia. At 13:10:32, the alliance came across the dismembered body of D12F. Reactions were predictable. Subject and D5F continued travelling until nightfall. However, it is likely that Subject understood that they were being followed. He did not share this information with D5F. Analysis concludes that he did not believe this information to be noteworthy for inconclusive reasons. 

Deaths, Day 004  
13/24: D12F (by D1F and D1M) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 5: 100%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 26%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 8%


	6. Day Five

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

At what point do we just admit that we’re not okay? At what point is it alright to just break down and cry? I wished I could. The sun rose, and yellow-orange rays glittered across the morning frost. Cold, crisp air was fresh and sharp as I inhaled. But I wasn’t okay.

Damn I was just so exhausted. I was scared. I was tired. Every thought chilled me in a way that no temperature could ever hope to achieve. Every hair on my body picked up the little movements of the world around me, alerting me to fictitious dangers. To be so alert for many days at a time with no hope of relaxation was too much, and I yearned to be free from it all. But there were only two ways for that freedom to occur, and one of them was very much not something that I was keen on accepting.

I wanted to cry. As I sat down on a fallen log and overlooked a gurgling stream, I begged myself to let the tears fall so that I could be free from some of the stress and anger and fear that had come to fill up the hollow cavity of my body. But I watched the water rush over smooth rocks through my clear eyes, and every bit of my mind yanked and twisted and snarled against itself as it called every bird song, every twig snap, every leaf rustle to my attention as a potential and imminent danger.

“What I wouldn’t give to shit in a toilet again,” Ilana grumbled as she walked over towards me. She paused for a second, then said, “C’mon, Eli, we can’t wait here very long.”

Did she know what I knew? Did she know that we were being followed? Or had that notion weaseled into my head as a paranoid thought that had no basis of rationality? It was hard to tell out here where everything pointed in the direction of one’s untimely demise.

The two of us proceeded in silence through the forest, each step careful and cautious. One wrong movement, and we could make far too much noise and draw too much attention to ourselves. But we couldn’t stay in one place, either, for that would mean that we were too “boring” for our viewers at home, and we would have to have a Gamemaker-induced event to make things more exciting. So we set traps, and I showed Ilana the different types to catch various types of animals. With a pang, I realized that I was explaining all of this to her because I realized subconsciously that I’d die and leave her behind. She needed to have a fighting chance if I was killed first.

We heard sniffling as we approached one of our traps, and our pace slowed. After several long, slow minutes of moving inch by inch, we came upon a small clearing where we had placed one of the larger traps. It was meant to catch game—that’s what I had learned it for back in the training center—and I wasn’t entirely sure how successful it was. But there was a girl, fifteen or sixteen years of age, wrapped up in the ropes of the trap. It had sprung around her leg, and she was clawing at it furiously in her attempt to free herself before we returned. The moment that she realized we were there, he frantic clawing at the ropes turned to sheer panic, and she began to blubber out a string of half-sobs, half-words.

“Please—I—can’t—please!—Don’t kill me!—I’m scared—I don’t want to—” Tears streamed down her face, and snot bubbled from her nose. Her cheeks were red and her eyes bore such terror I have never seen. She was ragged and disheveled, with torn clothing and several large scratches on her exposed skin. But even through the knotted hair and layer of grime, I recognized her as the girl from District 7.

“Elijah.” Ilana nudged me.

I tore my eyes away from the girl long enough to glance at my district partner. She motioned to the knife in my hand.

For several long, stupid seconds I tried to process what Ilana was telling me. I knew that I had a knife, and I knew that the District 7 girl would die, but I couldn’t connect one thought to another. It was humiliating once it finally sunk in that I was expected to kill her—not because it had taken me so long but because I realized that I could not bring myself to do it.

Death was around me. Killing was inevitable. At some point, I knew that I would have to kill somebody if I wanted to survive. But it was a thought in the future, not something that came down to the here and now—and certainly not something I could do to a girl caught in a poorly-made rope trap with cords wound around her legs so that she didn’t have a fighting chance.

“Kill her, Eli!” Ilana hissed.

The words jolted me with disgust and fear and hatred. How could the girl I had spent the past week with suddenly spew forth such venom? Had I not held her as she cried herself asleep when she had killed a tribute two nights ago? My fingers twitched on the blade in my hand, and in some distant realm, the District 7 girl’s pleading needled into my brain.

“I-I can’t,” I said at last. I didn’t care about my pride. I didn’t care about looking foolish or stupid or weak. I didn’t care about losing sponsorships. All I cared about was that somebody else had placed me in such a cowardly position in which I had to choose between life and death against a younger girl who could not even defend herself. The fear twisted and groaned within me, sloshing around into acidic disgust. I thrust the knife into Ilana’s hand. “You do it.”

Ilana looked at me firmly. I couldn’t read her expression—or perhaps I didn’t want to, I don’t know. But she took the knife in her hand and stepped towards the girl. Kneeling down into a crouch, she lifted the knife up to the girl’s neck.

The District 7 girl sobbed, but she no longer had words to plead for her life. Ilana’s hand shook. For several moments, the two of them balanced between worlds, only inches apart from each other. The strong scent of urine permeated the air, and the girl’s sobs no longer produced tears.

Ilana stood up suddenly and slapped the knife back into my hand. Her eyes, hard and frightened, held mine for the briefest of moments. She took several steps away, and it was my turn to kneel by the girl. But this time, I used the knife to work the knots loose.

“Get out of here,” I ordered quietly. “We’re not all animals yet.”

The District 7 girl hesitated for a moment, sobs frozen. Then she jumped up, wriggled herself free of the remaining ropes, and took off running. She left behind her bag with a few meager supplies.

I stood up to face my ally and the two of us stared silently at each other. We couldn’t do it. We couldn’t get out of the arena alive—neither of us—if we couldn’t do that which is the most basic function of the Hunger Games: kill.

Less than two minutes after we freed the girl, we heard the boom of the cannon.

That night, we saw the District 7 girl’s face in the sky and I knew that my paranoia was not for nothing: we were being followed. I almost didn’t care.

I was hollow. It was better to be hollow than to face the guilt that gnawed at my guts. Sooner or later, it wouldn’t be the District 7 girl who I’d have to kill. Ilana slept quietly by my side, her chest rising and falling. Would I have the courage to do what must be done? I was ashamed at myself for entertaining these thoughts after all we had been through together. Despite trying to reassure myself that she was having these same thoughts about me, I felt sick and dirty for even allowing the idea into my mind.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 005 Subject and D5F set four traps of varying complexity in their immediate area. Two of the four traps failed to work when activated by squirrels. A third trap caught a rabbit. The fourth trap ensnared D7F, though it failed to do more than temporarily bind her with ropes. This, however, allowed Subject and his ally time to find her.

When presented with an opportunity for a confined kill, neither Subject nor D5F was able to kill D7F. Empathy levels proved to be too high to follow through with the kill. As a result, Subject freed D7F. However, D7F was killed shortly thereafter by D2M. 

Deaths, Day 005  
12/24: D7F (by D2M)  
11/24: D3F (by D4M) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 8: 54%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 22%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 7%


	7. Day Six

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

No story can be complete if important things are left out no matter how painful it is for us to think about them. I don’t like to think about Day Six; I like to pretend that it never happened. But that’s not—it’s not fair to Ilana. Or to myself, I guess.

Ilana and I discussed my suspicions of being followed. This was the last trap we’d check, we agreed, because we had to move on and go into new territories where hopefully we’d lose our stalker. There had been one cannon in the morning, and though we wouldn’t know who it was until night fell, it still set us on edge.

The flat ground began to change. Though the trees remained the same, the land rose and fell into small hills and stream-cut valleys. Moving quickly became more challenging, and my muscles had to become accustomed to the constant change in elevation, minor as it was. If somebody was following us, it would be so easy for them to catch up, and this fear motivated me to walk faster despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Ilana stayed by my side.

Our weary bodies struggled to keep going, and we allowed ourselves brief, infrequent breaks. We planned to push through until nightfall, after which point it wouldn’t be wise to traverse unpredictable terrain in low light. But, unfortunately, the arena is an inhospitable place that does not allow plans.

The ground slipped out from underneath us as we stepped down on a loose clod of dirt covered by rotting leaves. I fell, arms wheeling as I tried to regain my footing. My bottom hit the ground, and I slid down the hill. Twigs and small rocks nicked my body as I slid past. Digging my fingers into the earth, I slowed my descent. When I came to a stop, panting and shaken, I took a few seconds to gather myself together before I sat up and looked around.

It had not been a particularly steep slope or sharp fall, but in our haste, we failed to watch our step and tumbled down this hill. I had rolled about fifteen feet, and it took me several seconds to realize that Ilana had rolled even further. She was about thirty feet away towards the bottom of the ravine. Pushing myself to my feet, I clambered over in her general direction.

“Hey, Ilana, I—”

BOOM!

The sound reverberated within me, shaking and echoing around my chest, causing my body to tremble before I understood what it meant. For several seconds, I allowed myself to exist in naivety and I covered the last few feet to her side. We hadn’t fallen far, and we hadn’t mostly just skid down a hillside.

“Ilana, we—”

I crouched on the ground next to her. Deep within me, I had known ever since I heard the cannon so many long seconds ago. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t breathing. Her neck was crooked at an angle, and her skin was pale. I’d like to say that she looked peaceful but she didn’t. She looked wrong. She was dead.

I shook her shoulder, and tried a few half-hearted chest compressions, and I watched her chest to see if it rose and fell, knowing all along that it was for nothing. And then I gathered her in my arms and held her there, face buried in her jacket, and I tried to cry.

The tears didn’t come until later as I huddled alone at the gnarled roots of a tree and watched the anthem light up the cold, starry sky. It was as though the sudden appearance of her face—confident, calm, alive—triggered an agglomeration of emotions and thoughts and fears that I couldn’t put into words but all needed to flood out of me at that moment. A heavy sleep fell upon me after I had cried out everything within my being, and once more, I was nothing but a shell.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 006 Subject and D5F travelled 5km southeast. Bad footing led to an accident in which both Subject and D5F fell down a hill with dip of 48 degrees. Subject sustained several minor but unremarkable lacerations and contusions. D5F snapped her neck and was instantly eliminated, thus ending the District 5 alliance. At its peak shortly before the breakage of the alliance, the District 5 alliance reached 39/45 on the Hergman-Walter Scale of Alliances.

Subject was greatly distraught by this occurrence. After the anthem, he spent several hours in acute distress before losing consciousness at 23:05:51. 

Deaths, Day 006  
10/24: D1F (by exposure)  
09/24: D5F (accident) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 8: 52%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 24%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 15%


	8. Day Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a head's up for those squeamish, there are scenes of torture in this chapter.

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

I wasn’t thinking. People blamed it on the loss of my district partner and ally, but it was more than that. I was angry and frustrated. Weariness was catching up to me. Ilana’s death shook me and haunted me, but I will never blame her for my inability to think clearly.

The small shack was nestled between trees, and despite the two jackets I wore bundled around me, the night had been damned cold. The shack—quiet, seemingly uninhabited—appealed to me on a primal, instinctual level; assuming, of course, that one’s instincts were not honed to watch one’s surroundings for danger. All I could think of was warmth and shelter from the blustery morning air, and as I stumbled towards the door, my common sense was left behind.

As soon as I opened the door, I realized my mistake. My eyes did not have a chance to adjust to the darkness before I felt the rope slide around my neck. It tightened, and I was pulled to the ground. Several solid punches and kicks knocked the wind out of me and disoriented me to the point where I was too stunned to fight back.

This was the end.

But it wasn’t. Ah, how I often wished that it was, but it wasn’t.

“Grab his stuff, idiot,” someone hissed. It was followed by someone else saying, “Help me tie him up.” There were voices around him, and it wasn’t until I had been tied to the chair with ropes that cut into my skin that I was able to fully assess my surroundings.

The shack was small—one, maybe two rooms—and poorly constructed, but it was furnished with meager hand-crafted furniture, including a bed, a table, and a cupboard. It was also well-lived-in, as bits of food and rubbish were strewn everywhere. An assortment of weaponry lay scattered about, clearly more than what one or two people would ever need. Backpacks, small survival items, and the like sat unclaimed, and I hungered to get my hands on them. The people who had claimed this shack were far richer in arena goods than I had ever imagined. I scanned the small crowd before me to see my captors. The one tightening my bonds was the District 6 male. The District 2 male leaned against the bedframe and stared down at me with eager, disturbed eyes. The male tribute from District 1, and the females from Districts 2 and 4 also watched me, pacing about and shooting each other grins.

I had interrupted a conversation, as they started on where they had left off before I walked in, punctuated by a comment about me here or there. Their words were fast and overlapping as they battled to be the one with the most control of the discussion, and it was several moments in that I realized they were discussing who they had killed. My stomach rolled in disgust, and had I eaten anything that morning, it would have come up right then.

“That’s four for me!” the District 2 male announced.

“No, you only have three,” the District 2 female chuckled. She shot him a smarmy but playful half-smile. “So this one will be mine.”

“Woah, woah, there’s no way that anyone has gotten more than me,” said the District 1 male.

Oh, God, it disgusted me how they talked. The words rolled out of their mouths so easily as though they were discussing a soccer game. I kept my head down and watched the floorboards as the Careers bantered back and forth. Was I to be their next kill? Would my death be counted as a tally to the one with the most kills, or would the one with the least kills have a shot at me?

“…List them,” the District 4 girl was saying.

The District 2 male laughed. “District 8 male—Bloodbath.”

“The scrawny kid who was good as dead anyhow?” laughed the District 2 girl. “Please! I killed two in the time it took you to knock out that little turd.”

“Woah now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the District 2 male instructed. Though he wore a grin, his tone was dangerous. “That little shit was going to take my sword. Besides, somebody had to play homemaker while you went off killing wildly. Somebody had to protect our supplies. Then there was the District 12 boy the next day. That f*cker wouldn’t die, I swear. Should count for two kills, but whatever. And then the District 7 girl. And finally the District 5 girl.”

Ilana.

My heart stopped.

“No,” I said. My voice was raw and hoarse. I knew I shouldn’t speak, but I couldn’t stay quiet either. The Careers trained their attention on me as though my quiet word had cut through their conversation. “No. Ilana died when she fell down a steep hill and broke her neck. You did not kill her.”

The words rumbled out of me like thunder from a distant storm. And it was in the lingering silence that I knew that I had made my mistake—and that I would never, even if I had the chance, take it back.

The District 2 girl snorted. “No f*cking way. You’re really—” She couldn’t get out her full thought before she started laughing.

“He’s obviously lying,” the District 2 male said quickly. “Why the hell would you listen to him?”

“Probably because he was practically groping her all throughout Prep Week,” the District 4 girl snickered. “Give it up, mate—how many of those other kills are actually yours?”

“You guys are the densest shits I know,” the District 2 male snapped.

“If you’re lying about this, what else are you keeping from us?” the District 1 male asked. His voice lacked the humor and teasing that the girls’ had, but everyone snapped to attention as they waited for the answer.

“That all hinges on the notion that I was lying, which I’m not,” the District 2 male stated defensively. “But for real, are you going to let this asshole screw up our alliance?”

The Careers looked between each other. None of them looked confident in their answer, but they all agreed that it would be stupid to start turning on each other right now. “Right now” being the key because all of them knew that at one point or another, they’d have to break apart. And the District 2 male was their weakest point. Only the District 6 male didn’t speak.

“Alright, well if you have killed four, then I guess I have some catching up to do,” said the District 2 female. She scooped up a sword and slung a bow and quiver over her back. “And best to get it done while there’s still daylight.”

“Well, I’m way behind,” said the District 1 male. “You mind if I join you?” He was already picking up his own weapons.

The District 4 female pinned a small pouch around her waist. “Me too. I was hoping for some great finale to make my mark, but I guess now’s as good a time as any,” she said.

The three of them started to pull themselves together and head to the door. The District 2 male shifted uneasily as he watched them gather their supplies. He said, “Make sure to get some fresh fish out there. We’re almost out of jerky.”

“Have a preference?” asked the District 4 female. “I hear the trout is pretty good this time of year.”

“Hell, I’ll eat anything,” the District 2 male said. He struggled to sound casual, but his words bore tension to them.

There was a bit of obscene banter and a few parting comments as the trio headed out the door with chuckles and well-wishes. The door closed and the laughter fainted with the footsteps, and the shack plunged into silence.

It was not a welcomed silence, either. It was a burning, melting silence that oozed out and obliterated all that it touched. Still bound to my chair by a rope around my chest and arms and two more at my ankles, I kept my head down and tried to evade the flames of hatred that danced in the quiet. But it was of no use as the District 2 male walked up in front of me. Out of my peripheral vision, I felt him look me up and down. My breathing quickened and I braced myself for the inevitable death.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” spittle frothed out of the District 2 male’s mouth. I flinched under the intensity of his words. “You have just fucked up my alliance. You have ruined what I have worked for!”

The first blow fell on my cheek. I winced as pain blossomed out across my face.

“I have spent years—do you understand that—years preparing for this,” he roared.

The second blow hit me in the ear, and for a moment, my ear rang sharply before the sensation fizzled away.

The third, the fourth, the fifth—one came after another after another. I couldn’t keep track; didn’t want to keep track. Pain enveloped me as the barrage of punches landed on me. Blood flowed from my nose, from my lips, from my cheeks. I fought dizziness with every second.

At last, the District 2 male stopped. Was he done? Was he about to deal the final blow?

He pointed towards a crowbar leaning against the bed. “Your turn,” he said to the District 6 male. For a dim second, I wasn’t sure of what he was saying. Was he going to beat the District 6 tribute? The District 6 male looked confused himself, and it wasn’t until the District 2 male swore at him that he skittered over and picked up the crowbar. With a lurch in my stomach, I realized what he meant. The District 6 male looked at me with something akin to regret and fear, and he headed right towards me. He drew back his weapon. . . .

A crack filled my entire body with pain. My arm was broken. I didn’t need to see it. A moment later, the weapon hit again. . . . And again. I lost consciousness and found it again shortly thereafter. For several minutes, I flitted back and forth between consciousness and unconsciousness as the crowbar was replaced by District 2’s baseball bat. He was saying something—swearing, blaming me—but I couldn’t stay awake long enough to follow what he said.

Such agony I have never experienced in my life—I never thought possible. To describe it and to experience it are two vastly different things. I bleed from every orifice, from newly-inflicted lacerations. Several teeth had fallen out, and I couldn’t bear the pain of pushing my tongue forward to spit the bloody bits of bone out of my mouth. But the vast majority of the damage was internal. I couldn’t stay conscious consistently, I had difficulty breathing, my ribs were broken, God only knew what sort of state my internal organs were in. The pain bloomed through me like fireworks radiating across my being, only to be replaced by another blossom of agony that lingered and faded but never truly went away. I existed in a tormented, half-human existence where I could no longer make sense of what was truly present or what was merely my imagination. It was a nightmarish kingdom ruled by searing pain, and I could not escape it. From somewhere in the distance, I heard crying, but it wasn’t mine. Perhaps it belonged to some unsightly beast that dwelled in this hellish world.

The blows stopped. There was silence for several long seconds, and my vision began to return as shapes swam across the room. The District 6 male, tears streaking down his cheeks, clutched the crowbar in his hands. The District 2 male grabbed the knife from his belt.

“Years. I practiced. I honed my skills. I did things you would never have imagined just to make it to where I am,” he was saying as he stood above me. He placed his free hand on my forehead, tilting my head back to look me in the eye. “I will bring honor to District 2. I will bring honor to my family. And I will destroy you in ways worse than you can ever imagine so that you know what it’s like to get so far only to have someone fuck everything up.”

It was only a comment, I wanted to say. It was only the truth. But my brain couldn’t make the words, and even if they could, my mouth couldn’t follow suit. There were vague, hazy thoughts in my head trying to figure out how my words could have damaged this kid in a way that he would react like this but—nothing ever materialized.

His warm palm, sticky with blood, pressed my head back even further. The knife hovered above my face. My heart thumped and my jugular pulsed. This was the point—this is when he would slide that knife into my neck and I would cease to exist. I knew it was inevitable, and yet it was so real. I expected—God, I don’t know what I expected. Some sort of intervention, maybe. But I also knew that it was impossible, that I was dead.

The District 2 male grinned down at me. Blood flecked across his cheeks and chin, but his smile was pure white. He brought down the knife.

I screamed, a guttural, animalistic noise, as the knife plunged into my left eye. The pain once more overtook me, and I struggled to remain conscious, to fight against it. But more startling than the pain was the sudden darkness that swamped my vision. He withdrew the knife and once more brought it down. Once more, the pain.

And darkness. Complete darkness.

Another blow to the head, and the District 2 male uttered a string of curses and stomped away. The floorboard shook with each step. The door flew open and slammed closed behind him.

Seconds passed, and I became aware that I was not the only person here. The District 6 male, I remembered dimly. I could hear him breathing with ragged breaths.

“I’m—” he started. But his words never came out of his mouth. I knew what he was thinking. ‘I’m sorry, but better you than me.’ I hated him for it and for his cowardice and for his participation, but I could not blame him. He left silently, dropping the crowbar on the floor near my feet. The door thumped shut behind him.

In and out of consciousness. Hours or days or minutes or years. I didn’t know. I was there and I wasn’t. I was alive and I wasn’t. I was free and captured and sane and insane. I was everything and nothing.

“Oh my God.” It was the District 2 female. She stood before me some hours later. “This is messed up on so many levels.”

She reached out and touched my cheek. I withdrew, wincing from the pain. I thought she would kill me—it would have been a mercy if she had—but she didn’t. It would have been the death of her to tread upon the kills of her fellow Career. Instead she trickled water into my mouth and cleaned some of the wounds on my face. She forced my eyelids open and dripped something inside. It was too much. I drifted away.

I woke to voices. The others had returned, though the sounds were muffled. Still outside, I realized. They were teasing each other and bragging about their successes and mourning their failures. Everything was happy and jovial and there was laughter and banter. Disgust seeped within me. I was broken and damaged, and I was going to die. But I would not die at their hands.

The ropes had come loose with all of the chaos. I managed, carefully, to wiggle out of the ropes around my torso and untie the ones at my feet. Hoisting myself up, I staggered forward and nearly fell onto the ground. My legs had been spared most of the blows, but they still wobbled underneath me. But I remembered where the window was, and I carefully hobbled over towards it. With my functioning arm, I managed to unlatch it.

The sound of the anthem sent fear coursing through me, but I knew this was my only chance. This was my escape. As the others were distracted, I slipped out the back window (perhaps fell out is a more accurate choice of words) and staggered off into the bushes.

I should have died, but I didn’t. I spent the remainder of the evening wishing I had.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 007 Subject entered the shack (#191918), previously claimed by Spearhead Alliance (D1M, D2M, D2F, D4F, D6M) at 08:45:32. Immediately upon entering, Subject was trapped by the Alliance and bound to a chair where he stayed for the majority of the day. However, Subject interjected in the conversation of the Spearhead Alliance members to correct a fallacy told by D2M to the others re: the death of D5F. This resulted in general distrust between members of the alliance and marks what will likely be the decay of the alliance.

D2M interpreted the situation as direct damage to his reputation and commenced physically assaulting Subject. Shortly after starting, D2M coerced D6M by way of threat to beat Subject with a crowbar (item #10133). When D6M discontinued, D2M used wooden baseball bat (item #89102). At 11:02:34, D2M used a knife (item #89184) to critically damage both of Subject’s eyeballs, eliminating vision. Subject remained bound to the chair for the remainder of the day.

Injuries sustained: Complete blindness OU with irreparable damage from perforation. Loss of teeth 03, 04, 05, and 27. Concussion. Hairline fracture of right mandible. Fracture of ribs 6 (left) and 7 (left). Pulmonary contusion (mild). Damage to right kidney. Closed fracture of right ulna. Severe lacerations and contusions.

At 15:14:37, D2F began mild treatment of wounds which included applying ointment (item #38184) to visible lacerations and flushing eye sockets with cleanser (#99581). Treatment decreased infection rate by 32%. D2F provided hydration to Subject. Subject unable to stay fully conscious during treatment.

Subject removed his restraints at 18:01:02. He escaped out of the northwest window of the shack. By 18:10:45, Spearhead Alliance members realized that Subject was gone and immediately sent out D2M and D2F to find him. Subject evaded pursuit by remaining in the shadow of a fallen log near a stream.

Subject showed extreme resilience and determination. However, such an injury has resulted in significantly reduced chances of Victory. 

Deaths, Day 007  
08/24: D4M (by D1M)  
07/24: D6M (by D2M) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 8: 10%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 0.5%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 0.012%


	9. Day Eight

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

The next morning I woke up, and that was enough to make me wish I were dead.

I struggled to remain conscious for the next several hours, and I forced myself to carefully, carefully wash my wounds in the cold water of the stream. The icy water flowing over hot skin shook my bones, and I had to take caution not to allow my teeth to chatter for pain was a constant companion with every move of my jaw. I used thick sticks to immobilize my arm, wrapping bits of fabric from my second jacket to stabilize my splint. With the fabric from the same jacket, I bound my eye sockets so that no dirt could sneak past my lids.

The stream gave me water. My pain gave me hatred. It boiled and sizzled deep within me, and I could only contain it because my broken and pulpy body would not allow it to come out.

Why did we all have to die? What was more, why did people like those disgusting disgraces for humans get to live. Almost certainly they would—there were very few of us left. Last night, in my flight, I had listened carefully to the music of the anthem to know that it played long enough to signal that two tributes had died. At the time, I had been too focused on praying that the music lasted long enough for me to make my escape, but now it lingered in my head. Everything lingered in my head. I couldn’t distract myself, couldn’t escape from it.

The nightmares that woke me were inescapable. I couldn’t open my eyes and blink away the frightening images seared into my brain. They were there—real and tangible and ever-present in my mind’s eye. All thoughts to turn my mind to happier times—being back home or, hell, running through fields, I didn’t care—were fruitless as the images of the arena interjected and I couldn’t blink them away.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 008 Subject remained in the same position throughout the day. He cleaned and bandaged wounds using the water from the stream and the meager supplies he carried. 

Deaths, Day 008  
none 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 10: 2%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 0.4%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 0.01%


	10. Day Nine

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

The birds sang as though nothing had changed. Their songs went on even as we died. They did not care what became of us. Nobody cared; their songs were merely reflections of the overall attitude of those who orchestrated the Hunger Games. The world kept turning and we kept dying.

Except for me, I suppose. I felt stronger. I cleaned my wounds and applied fresh bandages where I could. I drank my fill of water, and I ate whatever I could catch from the stream which, unfortunately, was not fish. Snails of some sort mostly. I did not have the luxury of fire, nor was I able to see what I ate which might have been more of a blessing than I gave it credit for.

No cannons echoed throughout the arena—at least none that I heard. This was confirmed with the nightly anthem that, like the night before, was so brief that it could not have announced any deaths at all. Normally the Gamemakers become anxious and start pushing tributes together, but something must have caught their attention. Was it me? Were they waiting to see how long I lived? Was my life worth nothing at all that I could dwell in agony until I finally succumbed to my injuries?

Why did I even question it anymore? It was clear that they cared nothing for me, and that was even worse than outright disliking me. They didn’t toy with me because they bore a grudge against me. I was nothing more than a specimen in a dish for the Gamemakers to prod. Somehow this is what became of society, and now I would die for them. The thought filled me with such anger I had never experienced. But it was a strangely quiet sort of anger, one that would not turn to flailing fists. Instead I steeped in it as I lay by the river and listened to the water rush past. Did they expect me to be grateful for an extra day of life?

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 009 No significant changes in Subject’s condition. Risks of infection increased by 10%, though regular tending to wounds has limited the increase. Resting for two days has increased healing rate and decreased risk of succumbing to injuries. 

Deaths, Day 009  
none 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 10: 80%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 3%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 0.01%


	11. Day Ten

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

My hand brushed an unfamiliar object when I woke, and I immediately withdrew it. After several seconds in which I forced my racing heart to slow so that I could think clearly, I reached out and once more touched the object. It was fabric of some sort. I pulled it in closer towards me and allowed my fingers to run across the coarse exterior. At the top was a knot, which I carefully undid.

This wasn’t a sponsorship. Those always came in little parachutes and boxes, at least they had in previous Hunger Games. Besides, it was Day Ten, and the price for anything useful would be through the roof—nobody would dare spend that sort of money on somebody who was as good as dead.

Inside, I felt a roll of bandaging material, a small tube of something, a few scraps of bread, a candy bar, and a bottle of liquid. First I opened the liquid and smelled it—plain water, as far as I could tell. Next I unscrewed the cap on the tube. A strong medicinal smell reached my nostrils before I had a chance to lean in close. What an odd gift. Who could possibly have left it?

It might all have been poisoned, but I didn’t care. Chewing was difficult, and I had become accustomed to letting things dissolve in my mouth before swallowing. I sucked on the bread and candy throughout the day, and I spread the ointment across my wounds and wrapped them in bandages.

A cannon boomed around nightfall. I shivered and drew deeper under the cover of the fallen log from which I had barely moved over the past few days. No cannons had fired since Day Seven. When the anthem played, they announced the death of one tribute, though who it was I did not know.

Ah, Ilana, could you see me where I was? Could you see that being alive could be worse than being dead? The things we feared long ago did not matter anymore.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 010 Subject received a packaged gift from D9F at 05:22:43. The package included bread (400 kcal), candy bar (800 kcal), bandage roll (item #19491), ointment (item #19499), and bottle (item #48910) filled with filtered water. Application of the ointment and appropriate bandaging eliminated infection risks from the wounds to which it was applied.

Despite not knowing the source of the gift, Subject wasted no time using it. Desperation overcame apprehension. Total time elapsed between first noticing the gift and using its contents is 00:07:32. 

Deaths, Day 010  
06/24: D9F (by D4F) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 12: 10%  
Likelihood to reach Top 5: 100%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 0.01%


	12. Day Eleven

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

The first thing I thought when I woke up was that I reached the Top 5. Somehow I managed to make it to one of the final five people despite my injuries. I thought with a pang how much I missed Ilana, and yet I was grateful that she was dead and did not have to experience what I had gone through. Had our roles been reversed . . . I didn’t want to think about it, but I knew that she never would have been able to escape the shack. The idea of her being tied up and beaten and blinded. . . . I wouldn’t think about that, either.

The medication didn’t heal me, but it certainly helped. I spent the morning slowly using my body again while remaining curled within my hiding spot. Something about realizing that I was in the Top 5 made me yearn for the possibility of leaving this cursed place alive. I knew it was foolish, but there was still hope. That’s what makes the Hunger Games work, you see. If we didn’t have hope that we’d get out alive, we’d off ourselves right at the very beginning. It was another piece of the sadistic machinery that made the Hunger Games tick. So I lay there stretching my limbs and flexing them carefully, lifting the water bottle as a weight. I did this until I passed out from the pain. And when I woke back up, I did it again.

In the afternoon, a cannon boomed again. Four. There were four of us left. But who the hell were they?

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 011 Despite significant injuries, Subject shows determination and fortitude. He spent the majority of the day strengthening his body for what he must understand to be the inevitable fight. The only weapon Subject has within his possession is his knife (item #89180). 

Deaths, Day 011  
05/24: D2F (by D2M) 

Updated:  
Likelihood to survive until Day 12: 100%  
Likelihood to survive finale event: 2%  
Likelihood to be Victor: 0.008%


	13. Day Twelve

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

A cold mist wrapped itself within me and permeated my body. It bit through my skin and inched its way into my bones. The suffocating presence woke me up sharply.

It’s time, I thought. This was it. There was no denying that the mist was Gamemaker made, not with the way it clogged into my lungs and made me tremble.

I took my water bottle and my knife, and I pushed myself to my feet. The pain was almost unbearable, but I managed to stagger in the direction that the mist guided me. The cold, sharp jab of its presence nudged me forward, forbidding me to stop and punishing me with a cold jolt when I slowed too much. It was unforgiving as I staggered through the woods, tripping over roots and rocks and my own feet.

And then the mist was gone. Uneasiness spread through me, and I crouched down low to the ground. I tried to focus on listening to my environment, but I could barely hear anything over my own ragged breathing.

I heard footsteps first, and then the voice. “Wait for me when you get there,” said the District 2 male. “I gotta take a piss.” He was greeted by two other voices—one male, one female—and their footsteps shuffled off into the distance.

Struggling to control my breathing, I lay as still as possible. Was I concealed? Would he see me? Was he about to trip over me?

My heart thumped in my chest, pounding against my broken ribs and damaged lungs. This is it: this is why I had been kept alive for so long. Once the allure of betting over how long I’d last lying by the creek bed wore off, there had to be some other reason to keep a useless scrap of a tribute around. The viewers at home wanted to see the District 2 male finish me off. How many Capitolites would gasp with excitement when they saw the District 2 male and I face off? The taste of blood and hatred was strong and metallic in my mouth.

Schliiiick schliiiiick— the District 2 male was not relieving himself. He was sharpening a weapon, a knife, maybe. Perhaps a knife the other two did not know that he had. As he sharpened the knife, he whistled a merry tune as though it were another day.

Something snapped. I won’t try to justify it or explain what exactly it was. All I can say is that the tribute who hesitated to kill the trapped girl from District 7 was gone, replaced by a merciless, adrenaline-fueled ball of anger and loathing hell-bent on not going down by the blade of this psychopath. Lunging out of the bushes, I launched myself directly at the District 2 male’s whistles and landed on his back. He swung his knife around and jabbed me in the side, but I kicked his hand away. He tried again, but my arm was already wrapped around his neck.

And I pulled. I held fast and pulled hard, cutting off the airflow. He struggled against me and almost threw me off, but I only tightened my grip. It wasn’t until he was slumped to the ground and the cannon boomed over my head that I released him from my clutches and let him flop onto the ground.

Staggering backwards, I took deep, panting breaths as the pain in my ribs and lungs struck me over and over again. That was . . . I expected . . . I don’t know. But I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted him to pay for the pain he caused me, for the hope he tore from me. I wanted him to suffer because he had claimed to kill Ilana and to use her death as some meaningless token to advance in his petty competition to be the best killer. I wanted him to know what it was like to have his eyes stabbed out of his face, or to have his body broken by bats and crowbars. And I wanted to multiply it tenfold because I knew that I would never be able to convey this burning sentiment to the Capitol and unleash my true feelings upon them.

But instead, I had only a corpse lying on the ground next to me, and I realized how easy it had been for him to escape the arena. A few moments of struggle. Fear, panic, but no real pain. I grunted as I shoved myself to my feet, and I stumbled away from him.

I staggered in the direction that the others had gone, but collapsed into a nearby bush. My brain desperately tried to flit away, and I constantly had to pull myself back to reality and focus on the issue at hand. There were three people left—and I was one of them. Minutes passed, and I focused on not passing out.

Voices of the returning tributes pulled me back. The girl—I recognized her as the District 4 female. And the boy must have been from District 1.

“Do you think he finally found him?” the District 4 female asked hesitantly.

“Bout damned time. I can’t believe anyone could have survived from those sorts of wounds,” said the District 1 male. “Should have killed him right away.”

“It would have been kinder,” said the female.

The male grunted in response. “Would have wasted a lot less of our time.”

For a moment, they were quiet and they continued to walk again. I wondered how one could get to the end of the Hunger Games with an alliance such as theirs still intact. Such a precarious relationship they had—built upon death and mistrust. And yet there were three of them—had been three of them—who remained together until the end.

It didn’t matter. If I didn’t act, they’d find me in a matter of moments. I lunged up out of the bushes towards the closer of the two of them and hit him hard. He fell down onto the ground and I scrambled on top of him, pinning him to the dirt. My knife fell from my hands, but I barely noticed. Instead, I grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt and slammed his head into the ground where it connected with a sharp thwack to a rock or root underneath. Once, twice—I stopped counting. The body stopped twitching. And somewhere, up above, a cannon sounded.

“What the fuck?”

I turned around at the sound of the girl’s voice. Sitting back on my haunches, I fumbled for the knife and clutched it in my hand. Sweat threatened to loosen my grip, but I refused to let go.

She put up more of a struggle, but her confusion had been her downfall. She was smaller than me and not as strong as me; if she had been more powerful or more athletic, she would have easily wrestled the knife away from me. But despite my injuries, despite the fact that I couldn’t see her, I plunged my knife down into her again and again and again and again and again and again. My hands trembled, my body trembled. The adrenaline struggled to mask the pain coursing through me.

It was not the cannon but the announcement that drew me away from the corpse. An announcement I never thought I’d hear:

“I am proud to announce the Victor of the 127th Winter Hunger Games: Elijah Asher of District 5!”

The knife clattered out of my hand and I fell on my back to the hard ground beneath me. Grabbing my head, I stared blankly out into the sky above me. My chest heaved with every struggled breath. Blood splattered my skin and soaked warm through my clothing. It had happened—it had really happened. I had wanted this but—I didn’t want it. I wanted to die. I couldn’t have won the game, I couldn’t—No. Things shouldn’t be . . . . Had I? As soon as I got back to the Capitol, I swore I’d—the thought disappeared as once again consciousness left me.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Day 012 Despite significant odds, Subject terminated three tributes within the final minutes of the Hunger Games: D2M (strangulation), D1M (blunt force trauma), and D4F (knife). Considering the type of injuries he sustained, most notably complete blindness, and the disadvantages he had against three strong tributes, Subject overcame a projected survival rate of 0.008%.

Continued monitoring of his recovery will take place in the Victor treatment ward of the hospital. 

Deaths, Day 012  
04/24: D2M (by D5M)  
03/24: D1M (by D5M)  
02/24: D4F (by D5M)


	14. Recovery

**From the Memories of ELIJAH ASHER…**

“Why can’t I see?”

The nurse adjusted the IV catheter in my exposed arm. I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, “Don’t you worry about it. The president said that it wouldn’t be natural.”

The machines beeped around me. The one that measured my heart and made sure I was still alive—the ECG, I think she had called it—beeped with ever thunk of my heart. Even and smooth, my heartbeat didn’t betray the flash of anger that welled up inside me.

The kidney they had placed inside me wasn’t natural. The chunks of metal to stabilize fractures weren’t natural. The cold spheres that they had placed into the empty sockets weren’t natural. They were supposed to fix things—they had the technology to fix things. Why wouldn’t they fix my vision?

A bite of pain in my arm made me wince. The nurse apologized and continued to tug on cords and cables. As she did so, she chattered about how proud everyone was of me, and how strong and brave I was. Throughout the day she came and went, offering me every comfort a hospital could afford. Small meals with extra gelatin, relaxing music from a radio within arm’s reach, sunlight from a nearby window. She checked up on me routinely and bathed me before dinner. Then she was gone for the evening, leaving me under the care of the night nurse.

“You have been a huge inspiration to us,” said the night nurse without prompting. She didn’t seem to care that I was not engaged in the conversation. I stared blankly up at the ceiling and tried to drown myself in the somber piano melodies that played on the radio.

“Nobody believed you’d make it, and I say that with all the kindness I can, I hope you understand,” she chattered. “But we certainly believe in you now. If you could only see that—Oh! I mean—Well what I’m trying to say is that your victory has made a big impact. There are people who are wearing special contacts to look like they can’t see, and Mirage just released a brand-new facial wrap that’s see-through (so it’s not dangerous to wear). There’s even one fifteen-year-old girl who is so inspired by you that she has announced that she will not be correcting her vision loss. She has a degenerative vision disease, poor thing.” And she went on, and on.

Hatred seethed up within me like vomit and I barely managed to choke it down. The hours went by, and the machines beeped and clicked evenly.

**Gamemaker Notes:**

D5M, Recovery Subject continues to heal very well. Transplants and surgeries are successful. Subject appears withdrawn and the nurses report very little conversation which is not unusual with Victors. However, the lack of curiosity about his surroundings or his relatives is notable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I have for now. Perhaps there shall be more. Thanks for reading!


End file.
